There is an honesty to her, a clarity I both envy and resent. The city made her hard, but I made her. She has an honesty and clarity I both envy and resent. The city made her tough, but I made her harsh. I almost tell her I’ll kill him anyway. Instead, I say, “You’re still not seeing him.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I fear the retinas might detach. “You can’t control me anymore.”
But she’s wrong. I can. I always have.
I stand. “Go to bed, Carina. Tomorrow, I’ll make you breakfast.”
She looks at me, searching for weakness, and finds none.
“Fine,” she says. “But I'm not eating the eggs if you poison them.”
I almost smile.
She leaves, slamming her bedroom door behind her, a little lighter, a little more dangerous.
I return to Lucy, who is curled up in my bed, reading. She doesn't look up as I enter, just flips a page and lets the silence do the work.
“I wish I knew how to fix this,” I say.
She sets her book aside and pats the mattress beside her. “Come here.”
I do. And for the first time in hours, the world feels like something I might survive.
I wake at 3:40 AM to the sound of Carina’s laughter, some distant echo through my bedroom vent. I picture her on the phone with Anton, the forbidden call, their voices soft but urgent. I don’t get up—don't want to interrupt, don't want to reveal how badly I'm still losing—but I stare at the ceiling for another hour, taking inventory of every regret that still runs my life.
By the time Lucy stirs and pulls herself across my chest, I'm already halfway to work mode. I kiss her cheek, slide from the sheets. The kitchen is empty except for a half-written note in Carina’s handwriting, which I pocket as insurance for later.
Vic waits downstairs, the SUV warm, the windows fogged against the morning chill. Enzo slides into the passenger seat, looking like he hasn't slept in days.
"Anything?" I ask.
He grins. "Anton’s father is getting nervous, like he knows we’re onto the kid. You want me to start poking around?"
I nod once. "Make sure it’s subtle. If Carina catches a whiff, I’ll never hear the end of it."
"Was thinking—" Enzo starts, but I cut him off with a raised hand.
"I’m going to fix this. No blood. Not yet."
He nods. "You're the boss."
We drive in silence, the city a puzzle of gray and gold and endless traffic.
All the while I think of Carina, of Lucy, of the old scores I still need to settle. Of the violence in my blood and the mercy that girl somehow conjures from me.
Romance really is wasted on the young. Only when you're older do you discover what's worth destroying. Romance is wasted on the young. Only when you’re older do you realize what’s worth risking everything for, but by then, it’s often too late.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LUCY
Alessio's sheets feel so smooth against my skin that I notice every rough spot on my fingers, every place I don't quite match the softness of this bed. Dawn slips in through the windows, turning the Manhattan skyline into a blur of blue and gray. I pull the blanket closer, still warm from where he slept, even though he hasn't touched me in hours.
He’s gone. I expected it, but the signs still sting a little: the sheets are cool where he slept, his watch is gone from the bedside table, and the last bit of his cologne is fading. My phone lights up with a message, sitting above a list of missed calls from my father:
I’m almost done. Home in a few hours. You want pancakes? –A
I smile despite myself, and type back: